


of blue skies and pretty gray eyes

by rainydaybaby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Hermione Granger, Cheating, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Humor, Dark Magic, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Inter-House Rivalries, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lesbians, Loss of Virginity, Minor Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Orphan Hermione Granger, Psychological Torture, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Torture, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-16 07:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydaybaby/pseuds/rainydaybaby
Summary: "Look out, here comes Gryffindor's high-maintenance princess." Draco sneered, narrowing his eyes."Actually, I'm just a high-maintenance bitch who happens to be in Gryffindor. What, do you need another blowjob, daddy's boy?" Hermione smiled thinly, taking pleasure in how Malfoy's little gang of snakes snickered."You little Mudblood brat-" Draco was only able to slip his hand into his robes for his wand before she was right in front of him, her brown eyes dark and smoldering, the point of her wand digging into his neck."Careful, Malfoy. You value your jugular, don't you?"Or, the one where Hermione is an orphan who grows up with a darker outlook on life. She grows up into an even more badass, intelligent girl who won't hesitate to slap you before using a Dark curse, and she isn't about to take shit from anyone. Especially not the little blond brat in Slytherin.(Canon divergence where the main parts of the book will be the same concept, but darker/bitter Hermione has a big impact on Voldemort rising, and changes the events of the war.)





	1. The Start

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. I've never written anything for HP before, so I'm hoping this isn't too bad. I got this idea from reading a few other fanfics, but I've never seen this exact idea in play. I want to add that this is entirely my idea, and I have not seen this done before. I do not mean to copy to steal any ideas; I simply have taken some inspiration and devised my own plot.
> 
> Our favorite war heroine is bitter, cynical, but intelligent as ever! She's bold, fun, and, well...you'll just have to see ;) Of course, this is mainly Hermione/Draco, but there will be many side ships.
> 
> Quick note: I have decided to keep the House sorting the same. While I could make a case for Hermione to be in Slytherin because she is cunning and ruthless, she is more brave and impulsive than anything.
> 
> Warning: this fanfic does include death, graphic violence, mentions of r*pe, abuse, alcoholism, torture, and sexual content! The dark humor and themes aren't for everyone, so please take caution.
> 
> (this is sort of a prologue, so it is extremely short. expect long chapters from here on out.)
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling, I am simply using them for my creative outlet :)

One fateful night ago, on August 18th, 1979, a lovely husband and wife were on their way to the nearby hospital to deliver their baby. They had been happily married for almost four years, and both had stable careers as well-liked dentists in the community. Their four-year anniversary was approaching in less than a month, and they were thrilled that they would have a little one with them. With the wife in the front, clutching her belly and groaning loudly, eyes squeezed shut, and the husband, sweating nervously while trying to keep an eye on his love and the road, it came as no surprise that they didn’t see the drunk driver swerve towards them. In an instant, the Grangers were involved in a hit and run tragedy that would eventually lead to their deaths.

 Poor Richard Granger died first from severe blood loss. The paramedics arrived at the scene, unable to save him in time. Both his legs were crushed under the twisted and scorched remains of the Granger’s Acura, and a shard of metal had pierced his lungs. He cried openly as he drowned in his own blood, unable to reach his wife in time. His hand had been reaching out, shaking, desperate. Jean Granger did not suffer from bad blood loss, but a fatal head injure. She was screaming all the way to the hospital, blinded from the windshield shattering against her face. Most of her words were unintelligible, but words such as “baby” and “help” were frequently repeated. It took a sedative—administered hastily by a paramedic inside the ambulance—to stop the woman’s blood-curling wails of despair.

Alas, poor Jean Granger also died in the hospital later the next day. She had delivered her baby just hours prior, after croaking out a name: “Hermione.” The nurses who had been in charge of Mrs. Jean Granger held back their tears and did their best to remain professional as the body was taken away, and the infant started to whimper. The small town hospital had never handled such a tragedy before, and it shook the community. The Grangers were a pleasant, helpful couple. They often helped with neighborhood events, and despite giving out toothbrushes and carrot sticks for Halloween, were friendly with their neighbors.

After a period of time, all legal and medical matters had been settled. The baby had no health complications, and had been monitored for signs of nerve damage or issues with development. Unfortunately, there were no relatives able to take her in. The only living connection baby Hermione had to her family was an estranged aunt named Christine Granger, who burst into tears over the phone upon hearing the tragedy but adamantly refused. Her voice was raw and pained, and the caseworker decided not to push the grieving woman. Hermione would have gone straight into a foster family who took care of infants if one of the nurses, a sweet widow in her late 30’s, hadn’t decided she was going to adopt the child.

Jenny Watterson was 37 years old and had never married, much to her disabled mother’s dismay. Her career was more important to her, but she had to admit that loneliness found her on most nights. In a matter of 24 hours, she had a room ready for little Hermione Jean Granger in her own home, choosing to keep the baby’s given last name, and honor the brave mother at the same time. The curtains were light blue, her crib was white and pink, and oh, the outfits! Jenny didn’t realize how lonely she had truly been until she took her baby home that first night, and cried.

Hermione was the light of her life, and she doted on her; she dipped into her retirement fund, spending to make sure her child had everything she needed, and then some. Jenny took time off work, and when she returned, requested part-time hours. Her Hermione was growing into a beautiful toddler, watched by Jenny’s closest friend and neighbor while Jenny was at work. Hermione learned her manners, went to preschool, and sang her ABC’s off-key as her foster mother took pictures, hanging them up on the refrigerator and doors. Hermione was a brilliant child, who flourished in a learning environment. Her teachers sent high praise often, causing Jenny to puff up with motherly pride. Jenny only wished her mother was still alive, to see her child, her sweet Hermione.

Everything was perfect until Jenny turned 41, had a heart attack, and passed away. Hermione was then placed—no, dragged, kicking and crying—in n a very large family, where she had ten siblings, kind but exhausted parents, and not a single moment of silence. At first, she was sullen, and prone to sniffling, but eventually, she settled in. Here, she screamed and played and jumped on furniture until she exhausted herself out. It was loud, and she thrived on not enduring a dull moment. School was even better; in kindergarten, she learned how to read big girl books, and it was clear that she had easily surpassed her peers. With her bouncing, bushy curls and loud voice, everyone wanted to play with her.

Eventually, she had to leave the bustling household, and later in life she learned that her brief “parents” could only handle ten kids at once.

From then on, Hermione Granger learned the world was not kind to orphans such as her. She was unable to access what her parents left her behind in the bank until she was 18, and despite not knowing them, she cried when she learned their house—it would have been _her_ house—had been sold a few months after she was born. She developed a nasty attitude and a cold demeanor as she was shuffled from house to house for years. She might have been able to stay, be accepted into the permanent family, but her nasty remarks and behavior always got her in trouble.

By the time Hermione Jean Granger wound up at a tiny orphanage tucked into the corner of London, she had decided that she didn’t care what the world gave her. She was a fierce girl, nine years old, and she was going to _take_ what she wanted, no matter what anybody said. No one would tell her what to do, what to eat, what to say. It didn’t matter what the other kids yelled when she was reading, or what the social workers loudly whispered when she was around. She was in _control_.

And then that stupid man in a ridiculous blue outfit, complete with a matching hat, showed up years later on the dreary morning on August 19th, her eleventh birthday, thus changing her life as she knew it.


	2. Magic?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets Dumbledore. Will she accept the invitation to attend the mysterious Hogwarts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to add a note. I want to make clear that this orphanage is more of a children’s home than anything. I live in the US, so I apologize if I’m a bit ignorant on this topic. Hermione resides in a place where adoptions are extremely rare. The children simply live in the housing until they are old enough to get a job and move out.
> 
> Also, I know I promised long chapters! I swear from here on out, I am aiming for 6,000 words plus. I've started the next chapter already, and I'm thinking of bi-weekly updates since I am in (online) school full time, and work full time.

If she hadn’t heard the insult a thousand times before, Hermione might have been offended. A short laugh rolled off her tongue as she stared hard at the strange man. Dumbledore, he called himself. And a witch, he called her.

“A lot of people have frizzy hair, you know. There’s no reason to be an arse about it.” She said flatly, touching the top of her hair. Last summer had been an unusually hot one, so she had decided to chop off almost all of her bushy locks. Now that it was summertime again, they had grown out a little past her shoulders.

“No, my dear. I apologize if I was not clear enough. You are a witch capable of immense magic capability.” Dumbledore smiled serenely at her, and she swore he winked. Maybe his round glasses were just catching the light? He seemed to take her silence as an invitation to continue, still smiling like he was having tea with a close and admirable family member.

“I come from Hogwarts, School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. I understand you turn eleven today, and I would like to extend an invitation for you to attend. Unfortunately, I cannot talk to your parents, so—“

“You know, if you dress and act crazy, you might need to go on down the street to the clinic and check yourself in.” She interrupted him quickly, snorting, unamused with how the day was turning out. Instead of reading her newest book on astronomy, here she was, conversing with a madman who had the audacity to bring up her parents.

“I don’t know how they let you in, but I’m done here. Old bat.” Hermione didn’t bother to wait for a reply as she got up and left the small conference room, mumbling the last two words nastily under her breath. She slammed the door behind her and smiled in grim satisfaction as she heard the sickening sign on the door—“Smile!”—thud to the ground.

Once she had shut herself in her room, she finally allowed herself to relax. None of the other kids dared to venture into her room after she had made an example out of one boy. He had tried to steal her knickers, and by the time Miss Knight could wrench them apart, he had a swelling black eye and bleeding scratches running down his arms. However, this didn’t stop them from teasing and tormenting Hermione when there was one of the workers around. They never took Hermione’s side, and did little to defend her from the others. So she was subjugated to her books being stolen, vandalized or thrown outside; they would put mud or frogs in her drink, or knock her plate off the table; daringly, they would tug on her curls until her eyes watered or try and pull down her pants.

She could never retaliate in front of the workers; one time, she had slapped the malicious redhead girl who had pulled her hair until it was too much. In the end, Hermione was forced to sit in the “Thinking Room” and put on bathroom chores for a week for hitting the girl. Worst of all, she wasn’t allowed to read, and that was punishment enough to use more caution.

But she pulled out the dirty tricks as often as she could, and when there were no adults present, she abandoned all caution and fought tooth and nail. Sometimes she would cover the other girls’ sheets with ants, or leave their precious undergarments hanging from the ceiling fans. No one liked being alone with Hermione, and she was perfectly fine with that, which is why she had her own room. She didn’t need them, and she was sure once she turned eighteen and got her bank funds that she would meet some friends. They would laugh at her snarky comments and always have her back. But it was a far off fantasy, and she had to deal with the blithering idiots who hated her for no reason.

Hermione flopped onto her bed, closing her eyes as it creaked under her weight. She rolled onto her stomach and felt underneath her bed for the book she wanted to read. Her fingertips grazed the raised surface, and she pulled it out, satisfied it was her astronomy book. Astrology and horoscopes was a bunch of bullshit, but space was intriguing. Learning what lay beyond the planet fascinated her, so this week she requested books on the solar system.

Every week, each of the kids could check out one book from the local library. Since it was her birthday, the orphanage workers bought her the expensive book she had been obsessing over for the last few days. it was so nice to scribble down anecdotes or thoughts to expand on later. Seeing the margins crammed with smudgy blue ink was satisfying; it was like a journal of some sorts, a way for her to cope. Everything seemed manageable when she could note a particular theory on telescope frames.

Hermione would have gone back to adding a note about the ice caps on Mara if she hadn’t heard the voices. It was a talent of hers that she kept to herself; her hearing was amazing. She could hear what was going on from doors away, and it came in handy often. Setting down her pen, she chewed her bottom lip and listened to the conversation about her.

“I am so sorry a bout her! She is…well; she’s a bit difficult. Strange, really. Hermione doesn’t get along with the others at all, so I didn’t think she would like the idea of sharing a dorm with anyone. But she is very bright, yes.” The raspy voice paused, and sighed.

“It is no trouble at all. I assure you, not all of the children I visit wish to take such an opportunity. Many have other, uh, plans for their future. I am not one to order around possible students, you see. If Miss Hermione Granger wishes to stay here until she is of age, then by all means, I’m not one to stop her!”

Hermione scowled, easily recognizing the raspy voice to be the chain-smoking Miss Rally, and the flowing, soft voice as that stupid Dumbledore. It irked her how easily they spoke about her; she didn’t like the old man making such assumptions. But she was forced to admit that his words did leave her feeling a little hollow. Did Hermione really want to stay here until she was seventeen? Did she really want to fish frogs out of her soup every night? Was she prepared to stay awake at night when she knew the others were out to get her?

No, she did not. Rising from her bed, the curly-haired girl was prepared to stomp down the hall and demand more information about this mysterious school when she heard a vital piece of the conversation.

“Your hospitality has been lovely. Should Miss Granger change her mind, I am rooming at the Sweets Inn tonight, room number 566. Let her know she can phone me at any moment.”

Hermione waited until she heard the jingle of the front door, mind whirling furiously. The information given was so specific, and it puzzled her. Why had Dumbledore not given a phone number, instead of a location, despite giving her an option to call? It was almost as if he knew she was listening, but that was impossible. He couldn’t know about her “magic” hearing, and he was a few doors down in the office. Besides, it wasn’t magical. She was sure there were other people with her hearing; it was just rare. She wouldn’t give this magical bullshit another thought.

Ignoring the little voice whispering nonsense to her, Hermione devised a plan. She could defend herself, especially against an old geezer who looked especially frail, but it was sneaking out that was the difficult part. It used to be easy, but one of the other girls eventually saw her and snitched her out. Now, there was a lock on her window, and everywhere else, workers patrolled. They knew to keep an eye on her.

Luckily, she had memorized the shifts they worked in, when they took breaks, and how long each shift was. The only tricky part was ensuring everything went as planned. If even one of the social workers paused for a minute too long, she would be caught. The thought of living here for years to come caused a pit to form in her stomach. She hadn’t realized just how much she yearned to be free.

Twenty minutes after lights out, Hermione found herself standing at the edge of the street, shivering a bit. Her jeans were a bit ripped from rough housing, but she had the sense to bring her thickest jacket and wear her boots. Why was it so cold in the summer time? Bloody London.

She shot a glance at the home behind her, sneering, before taking off down the street. The moon was just a sliver in the sky today, and the streetlamps were dim, flickering every so often. Hermione was doing her best to keep quiet and be alert as she walked to the Sweets Inn. It was a little after 9 pm when she pulled open the wooden door and entered the cheery lobby.

“Hello, dear, how can I help you?” the blonde woman from behind the desk called out, straightening up and smiling wearily. The bags under her eyes were prominent, and Hermione noticed that one of her shirt buttons wasn’t done.

“Oh, miss, I’m supposed to get my school journal from my grandfather’s room. He thought it was his recipe book, you see, and I need my journal for class!” She adopted a faux expression of distress, and allowed her lower lip to tremble.

“Ah, he must be the gentleman with the long beard. He mentioned his granddaughter might stop by. Go right up ahead, honey.” She waved her through, and sat back down on the stool behind the counter.

Hermione wondered how Dumbledore knew she would be coming. Perhaps he heard of her impulsive behavior and sneaking out streak from one of the social workers. Most of them did badmouthed her, after all. But that would mean he would have known she was listening, and that was plain crazy.

Not sure whether to knock or just barge in, Hermione was saved from the decision when she heard Dumbledore say she could enter. She swallowed an unexpected burst of nervousness and stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“Ah, Miss Granger. Please, have a seat. How do you like your tea?” His eyes were twinkling again, as if he could read the questions racing through her mind.

She sat in the comfy armchair across from her, wordlessly dumping a few sugar cubes and a splash of milk into her cup. Neither of them spoke as she stirred, sipped, and then finally put the cup down.

“I’m sure you have many questions. I only ask that you believe my answers. I will answer with complete honestly and to the best of my ability.” He gently guided her, smiling serenely.

“How did you know I was listening?” Hermione shot off right away, not wasting any time in gathering answers.

“I as well have a curiously strong sense of hearing. I simply heard your breathing slow as if you were trying to be quiet after you had approached the door, so I put two and two together.”

His answer made sense, but she felt as if he was staring through her, with some sort of X-ray vision. She cleared her throat and glanced away, uncomfortable. Usually, she made others feel awkward, and she didn’t like the role reversals.

“Tell me about the school. Hogwarts, you called it. What kind of name is that?” She demanded, crossing her arms and leaning back against the comfy cushion.

“Hogwarts is a delightful school for witches and wizards. Before I explain this “hogwash,” as you will surely call it, please allow me to ask one question of you.” Dumbledore paused, giving the young girl a chance to nod curtly. “Excellent. Has there ever been a single moment—perhaps more—that something seemingly impossible occurred? Or, should I say, did you do something extraordinary?”

Hermione immediately opened her mouth to tell him off, but something about the old man’s tone made her pause. Instead, she thought back and recalled several unusual memories.

She remembered sitting in a high chair, watching a woman with silvery hair and a kind smile feed her mashed peas. They were her most hated food, and she had started to scream. In an instant, the jar had shattered into a million pieces. Maybe the woman had been holding it too tight? No, that didn’t make sense.

Another time, when she was a toddler, she had found a snake crawling in the garden of her current foster family’s backyard. Hermione remembered the little green reptile curled around her hand, staying still while she read books to him. The strangest part of that memory was the fact that she distinctly remembered the snake telling her his name, Burgundy.

 After that, nothing really stuck out to her. Sure, she was somehow able to find frogs with little to no effort, and when she threw things back at the other kids, they almost made perfect contact, but that didn’t mean anything.

“No, I haven’t.” She said defiantly, choosing to see if he would spout any more magic bullshit.

The little voice whispering in the back of her head grew louder as Dumbledore reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick. It was around a foot long and faded, but looked sturdy. He waved it, and she quelled a mad giggle, watching him.

Sparks flew out of the “stick” as the bed in the room collapsed in on itself, and then expanded into a giant teddy bear. He waved the wand again, and changed the color of the fur. Hermione watched with a dropped jaw as the bear’s fur turned purple, green, white, and then back to purple.

“What the…holy fuck. What the fuck. Did you spike my tea?!” Hermione shrieked and leapt up from her chair, brown eyes widening to the size of saucers.

“Of course not, dear. I am sure it is a lot to take in, but you _are_ a witch. I have just performed a simple transfiguration spell, which I am certain you will master faster than anyone else in your class.” Dumbledore said calmly, tucking his wand away once more.

Hermione shut her mouth and stared at him, wondering if this was all a dream. Was she really here, or just sleeping in her room, a book half open next to her? But she knew the truth, and somehow, it filled a little bit of her lonely heart. Magic was real, and she was a witch. Magic was real and she was a witch. magic was real and she was a witch.

“Magic is real and I’m a witch,” she breathed out, daring to say the words out loud. The old man inclined his head and beamed in approval.

“And I’ll be able to do magic like that someday? Where did you learn it from?” She asked eagerly now, sitting back in her chair but perching on the edge of her seat. It was clear to the both of them that she had already accepted the invitation to attend Hogwarts.

Dumbledore took the next twenty minutes to fill her in on Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. She listened raptly, storing information away and even gasping upon learning new things about the school. It seemed like a miracle that she was able to do magic, and the idea of reading textbook after textbook about an entirely new world filled her with a wild sense of intrigue.

“Now, my dear Miss Granger, it is getting a bit late. I am sure that one of the case workers will be checking in on you in about four minutes. The first day of term is September 1st, and the train departs at 11 am sharp. I will be sending someone to assist you in purchasing needed materials from Diagon Alley, as you only possess Muggle money.” Dumbledore smiled softly, explaining. “You will be receiving an owl shortly containing a list of required materials. I look forward to seeing you attend Hogwarts, Miss Granger.”

And off Hermione went, almost in a daze. She made sure to hurry down the stairs and out the door before the lady behind the desk could say anything to her, but if she had stolen a quick glance over her shoulder, she would have seen the blonde woman’s confused expression and cloudy eyes.

The young girl reached the children’s home in record time. She hadn’t planned on how she would get back inside unnoticed, but there was no time to ensure she wasn’t caught. Dumbledore was surely correct in his assessment of someone checking in her room, so she had to hurry.

Luckily, she managed to avoid running into anyone, using the shadows and many rooms to her advantage. Once she finally entered her room, she let out a deep breath and sank onto the bed, deep in thought. She was a _witch_ , and soon, she would be able to do _magic_.

Hermione started to laugh, falling onto her back and staring up at the chipped ceiling. Come September, she would never have to deal with the kids here again. She would never have to defend herself against bullies, or check her drink for frogs. Never again would she blink back tears and glare at the ugly moss green walls of her room. This stupid, cold, lonely room, where she was reminded time and time again that she was different, and no one would like her for it.

In this room, she had punched the walls and screamed at a higher power to kill her; she had smashed a mirror and used a shard to saw off most of her; she had read her favorite books and lost half of her pens behind the bed. In many ways, this room was like a cell, but in the same ways, it was also her home. Moving around from family to family depleted her safe spaces, but hopefully, she wouldn't ever need to come back here.

She was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please drop a review if you have the time and let me know what you think. Also, I edit and proofread everything by myself, so I apologize for any glaring mistakes. Next chapter, we'll explore Hermione's life at the home, and Diagon Alley.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop a review if you like what I write! Thank you!


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